[ His fingers grip the sheets of the futon he's sitting on. Hearing him rationalize the irrational is too reminiscent of his childhood. Maybe that's why his throat grows tight with emotions that threaten to overwhelm him.
Fire and ice churn in his chest, melting and freezing a war-torn heart. He doesn't care about heroes. Doesn't he understand that? He doesn't care about villains. He just - his eyes water - he cares about you.
Tears fall in an empty room.
No more than a handful, but it's enough to clog his throat, making it impossible to answer. How-- How did he think that he could-- His mouth opens as if he means to speak, but only a cold mist comes out, and with it, the room drops in temperature. Cold, the pain recedes, and he's able to speak without breaking apart. ]
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Fire and ice churn in his chest, melting and freezing a war-torn heart. He doesn't care about heroes. Doesn't he understand that? He doesn't care about villains. He just - his eyes water - he cares about you.
Tears fall in an empty room.
No more than a handful, but it's enough to clog his throat, making it impossible to answer. How-- How did he think that he could-- His mouth opens as if he means to speak, but only a cold mist comes out, and with it, the room drops in temperature. Cold, the pain recedes, and he's able to speak without breaking apart. ]
... No.